Quality Time
by jeanie2914
Summary: Peter wants a little quality time with Elizabeth after being out of town for a week, but his evening plans take an unexpected turn. This is a just for fun story; four chapters :) Sick Fic.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay. The fact is that I wrote this while working on a much more challenging story. So don't be too hard on me. This was just for fun; and I missed you all. Probably no more than three chapters and none of them will be that long. :)  
_

 **Chapter One**

"What's wrong, June?" A call from June Ellington usually was concerning only one subject matter: her current tenant and Peter's CI, Neal Caffrey.

"As Neal probably told you, I am in Florida until April, and I talked to Janet earlier today." Neal had mentioned that June had sought out warmer weather, leaving him, except for Janet the live-in housekeeper, alone in her rather large house. "She said that Neal is sick and has been for several days."

By the tone of her voice, Peter might have delivered the bug to Neal himself. "He's a grown man, June," Peter reminded her, "I am sure he can take care of himself."

"Well, I wasn't sure, so I called him," she paused, "He sounds terrible, Peter. I think he should see a doctor."

An FBI seminar had taken Peter out of the office most of the week, and he did seem to recall that Neal had been a little puny the previous week. But it was spring in New York; everyone was sniffling, sneezing, coughing and wheezing. Jones' report had been that Neal had worked diligently at this desk all week, with no complaints or shenanigans during Peter's absence. Peter had thought it a sign that Neal was becoming more adjusted to responsibility; now he was beginning to believe his CI had just been sick.

"June, if he needs me, he knows all he has to do is call."

"Oh, really?" the voice was skeptical, "And you really think that Neal is going to call you because he's sick?"

He let out a sigh. No, he didn't expect Neal to call him if he was sick. Neal had always been as healthy as a horse; he had never even asked for a sick day in all the time they had been working together. He was sure he hadn't actually avoided all illnesses during that time, but he had avoided sharing that information with Peter. Any sign of weakness was something Neal would choose not to share, especially with him. It would be a matter of pride.

"No, probably not," Peter admitted. "Look, if he's not better by Monday, I will make sure he goes to the doctor. Okay?"

"That's two-days from now," her tone was reproachful. "He's really sick, Peter. I would tell Mozzie, but he is currently unavailable. Will you please just check on him?"

He had reservations for seven at Elizabeth's favorite midtown restaurant, Basso56. An Italian restaurant near the Theatre District, the seafood risotto was El's favorite. It had great food and atmosphere, and after five days in DC, he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his wife. He wasn't about to let Neal Caffrey, sick or not, interfere with his plans. "I'll give him a call in the morning, June."

Perhaps not as immediate as she had hoped, he still heard the relief in her voice, "Thank you, Peter."

"Neal's sick?" Elizabeth had come into the room behind him and heard at least some of the conversation with June.

"Apparently so," Peter said, straightening his tie, "June is worried about him and wants me to check on him."

"Did you talk to him this week?" She asked, but before he could answer she continued, "Has Neal ever even been sick before?"

"I am sure he has been, El, he is human, after all," Peter laughed, "I'm sure he gets the sniffled just like the rest of us. And no, I didn't talk to him this week." He turned and stopped at the sight of his wife. Dressed in a sleek black dress, pearls at her neck and on her ears, she was stunning. It never ceased to amaze him how someone like him had won such a lady. "You are dazzling, Mrs. Burke."

Even after years of marriage, his words caused a slight blush on her cheeks. "Why, thank you, Mr. Burke," she looked at him, "So, are you going to call Neal?"

"In the morning, first thing," he assured her, reaching out and taking her jacket from her arm and holding it out for her to put it on. "Tonight is about us, and us does not include Neal Caffrey."

wcwcwcwcwcwc

"Why don't you just give him a call," Elizabeth said. They hadn't even gotten into the car yet; Peter was opening the door for her to enter. "That way, we can enjoy the evening without worrying about him the entire time." After she had taken her place, Peter closed the door, walked around and got in behind the wheel. He hoped he could just ignore her suggestion, but her eyes were on him, waiting for an answer.

"I plan to enjoy the evening without worrying about him," he insisted, glancing at her face. "I will call him in the morning, El."

"Peter." The imploring look she sent his way, of course, removed his resolve. It wasn't he who was going to be spending the evening worrying about Neal; it was Elizabeth. And Elizabeth worried about Neal would put serious kinks in his plans for quality time.

"Okay," he gave in. "I'll call him."

Neal didn't answer when Peter dialed his number. He tried twice, back to back, but got no response. He glanced at Elizabeth, whose face was now pinched with worry. As much as the evening was supposed to be about the two of them, Neal had somehow become a third wheel without even trying.

"He's probably resting, Elizabeth," he told his wife, "and don't feel like talking on the phone. Resting is the best thing he could be doing. I will try him in the morning, and if he still don't answer, I will go straight over there."

Elizabeth seemed to accept the assessment of the situation but the lack of sustainable conversation, in spite of Peter's best efforts, over the next few miles was an indication that her concern had not been abated. Peter could feel himself growing more and more irritated at Neal's interference in his evenings plans.

"You know," Elizabeth said, looking at him hesitantly a few minutes later, "We still have half an hour before our table will be ready. We could just, you know, stop by June's and make sure everything is okay."

"He's an adult, El, he can take care of himself," his irritation betrayed, Peter tried to mitigate it by softening his tone. "I will go see him tomorrow," He assured her, "You can come, too, and take him chicken soup or something."

"Fine." The word clipped, her tone told him clearly that it was not fine. He glanced sideways at his wife, who with a firm jaw, stared straight ahead. His plans for a romantic evening with his wife had now been completely derailed. The only hope of getting it back on track was to give in to her demands. They did have a half an hour; they could do a quick check on Neal and still make it to the restaurant by seven. He made a course correction, both literally and figuratively, and headed towards Riverside Drive.

"You're right, hun," he said in his most conciliatory manner, "We'll both feel better if we check on him first." It was true, if not for the same reasons.

She rewarded his compliance by reaching over and squeezing his arm. "Thank you, Peter." Her smile, and the warmth in her tone told him the evening still held promise; course corrected, back on track. Or at least it would be after a slight detour to Neal's apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Peter would have gone in alone, but he knew that unless Elizabeth saw for herself that Neal was fine, she wouldn't be satisfied. It also brought him a twinge of satisfaction to imagine Neal, looking less than his usual dapper self, opening the door and seeing the two of them dressed for an evening on the town. Always one to present himself well groomed, cool and collected, Neal would be mortified to be seen rumpled, red-nosed and wheezy. Even though it wasn't fair, the thoughts of catching Neal off his game did make the thoughts of the detour a little more palatable.

Janet seemed relieved when she opened the door."Mr. Burke," she said, then nodded at Elizabeth. "It's good that you are here. I've been very worried about Mr. Caffrey today."

Of course she had been. And so had June, and so had Elizabeth. Neal brought out the protective side in the ladies. Peter guessed it was that boyish charm of his; something Neal knew how to use to his benefit when necessary.

"Yeah," Peter said, stepping inside, "June told me he's under the weather," At her glance at his and Elizabeth's rather formal wear, he smiled, "We are going to dinner, but thought we'd stop on the way to check on him."

"Very good, Mr. Burke," she replied. "If you need anything, let me know."

She gestured towards the stairway, then made her exit as he and Elizabeth made their way up to Neal's apartment. Peter knocked on the door, but there was no response.

"Neal," he called out, "It's Peter." When there was still no answer, he tested the doorknob and found the door unlocked.

"He's probably asleep," he said to Elizabeth, lowering his voice. If they discovered him sleeping peacefully, they could be on their way in moments. He pushed the door open and he and Elizabeth entered. A little disappointed to have missed the opportunity to see Neal speechless at the door, he didn't want to take a chance of being left speechless himself if Elizabeth discovered Neal sleeping in the nude. "I'll go check his room," he volunteered.

"Peter," her voice interrupted his progress and he stopped, following her gaze to the sofa. Neal was not in his room, and thankfully, if he was nude his state of being was hidden under a blanket, more than one from the look of it. Elizabeth removed her jacket, discarding it across the table as she quickly crossed the space to where Neal lay.

"Crap," Peter breathed, Elizabeth's removal of her jacket did not support the _quick check_ scenario Peter had planned on. Upon a closer inspection, Peter understood her concern. Lying on his side, Neal's face was flushed and shining with sweat; he was not sleeping peacefully. Even beneath blankets, Peter could see he was shivering. Elizabeth, already at Neal's side, knelt down. His eyes were closed, and her hand smoothed his hair away from where it clung damply to his forehead.

"Neal, sweetie," she said softly, "Are you okay?" She looked back at Peter, worry now stamped on her face as her hand rested on his head. "He's burning up, Peter."

Her touch rousted Neal from his feverish slumber and the blue eyes opened. He looked at her in confusion. "lizabeth, what…?" his voice was hoarse, uncertain. His question was interrupted by a fit of coughing; a painful experience by his reaction. Eyes clenched, his hands appeared from beneath the blanket, and he gripped his head in both hands. Holding it tightly, his body curled slightly upon itself in his discomfort.

June had not exaggerated; he was sick and not only sounded terrible but looked it as well. Respiratory spasm over, Neal's eyes opened again, still confused at having Elizabeth in his apartment. Then he saw Peter.

" _Peter_?" his confusion clearly growing, "Why are you here? Is it _Monday_?"

He was clearly disoriented if he thought Peter would show up, with Elizabeth and dressed like this, to pick him up for work. Even though Peter had thought catching Neal off his game would be minimally entertaining, this was not what he had expected. There was an unnatural shine in his blue eyes and an edginess in this voice that Peter knew was fever induced. This was more than sneezing and a red nose; Neal was really sick.

"No, Neal," Peter explained, "It's Saturday. June called. She said you were sick, and Elizabeth and I just came by to check on you."

"That's really nice of you," he sounded surprised and looked at Peter questioningly. "You usually just check _up_ on me." His foot moved slightly beneath the blankets, "and you do that remotely."

"Well, yeah," Peter admitted, "but this is different. It took an eyes-on visit, and I must say, Neal, you aren't looking too good."

"I'm not feeling too good, either," he conceded, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "It hurts when I breathe," His hand went to his chest and he closed his eyes, "and my head hurts _really_ bad." His honesty took them both by surprise and Elizabeth met Peter's eyes in concern. Even she realized that any response from Neal other than _"I'm fine"_ indicated the seriousness of his condition.

"It's okay, Neal," She responded, her hand again stroking his forehead. "That's why we're here; to help you get to feeling better. Peter," she instructed, "Check and see if he has anything in his bathroom cabinet that will bring his fever down. Tylenol, Ibuprofen. If not, run downstairs and ask Janet to check to see if June has anything." Peter started towards Neal's bedroom. "If you find a thermometer, bring that, too," she called after him.

In Neal's bathroom cabinet, he found Tylenol but no thermometer. With medicine in hand and a cup of water from the tap, he returned to the living area. There he found Neal and Elizabeth engaged in a verbal tug of war regarding a blanket. She had removed two of them; they were now in a pile on the floor, but Neal was refusing to surrender the last one.

"Neal, we need to cool you down," Elizabeth spoke gently, "You don't need to be under blankets." Neal's arms were visible; he seemed not only to be under blankets but wearing a sweatshirt. Peter hoped he was wearing the matching bottoms since Elizabeth was intent on removing his remaining blanket.

"But I'm so _cold_ ," Neal protested, shivering as he spoke. He was holding the blanket tightly in fear that she would take it away as well.

"It's the fever, Neal," she explained, "You're not cold; you are _hot_. We need to bring your body temperature down."

" _Please,_ Elizabeth," his tone was so forlorn, his eyes so pleading that Elizabeth had to relent.

"Okay," she said, and instead of taking the blanket she actually tucked it in under his chin. "You can keep it, Neal." She looked up hopefully when she realized Peter had returned.

"I found Tylenol," He said. "No thermometer, though."

"Good," she said, obviously relieved. She stood up. "Make him take it," she said, "I'm going to round up a basin and a wash cloth; we've got to cool him down. He's probably dehydrated, too." She glanced towards the kitchen, "I'll see what he has to drink."

She was off and left Peter to his task. He had never seen Neal like this and he knew that Neal wouldn't have wanted him too, either. That is why he hadn't called. The whole situation made Peter uncomfortable, on Neal's behalf as much as his own, but in spite of that, he did what Elizabeth asked.

"Neal," Peter said, presenting him with the tablets in his outstretched hand, "I have medicine Elizabeth says will bring your fever down, raise up and take it." Neal tried to obey, but a fit of coughing stopped his effort. When he finally was able to breath again, he collapsed against the sofa pillow, sweat covered and exhausted. Peter moved closer, reached down and helped him up so he could take the medicine. In proximity, he now better understood Elizabeth's concern about his fever. Even though Neal was trembling, heat radiated from his body.

Peter eased him back down; Neal's hand still holding tightly to his forearm. "Thanks," He whispered, his eyes meeting Peter's, "It's good to see you, Peter, I missed you." He relaxed his grip on Peter's arm and settled back, eyes closing. Neal's words were heartfelt and sincere; fever apparently lowered his defenses. This was the second admission that a healthy Neal would have never made. At a momentary loss, Peter busied himself repositioning the blanket.

Elizabeth returned and set a bowl of water on the table. Having heard Neal's fevered admission, she was amused by her husband's behavior. He obviously didn't know what to do with an honest and open Neal Caffrey; It made him uncomfortable.

"He missed you," she remarked simply.

"He's obviously out of his mind," Peter minimized, moving a chair over for Elizabeth to sit in. "Hallucinating even."

Neal seemed to have resumed the state they had found him in; eyes closed, face flushed, hair again clinging to his damp forehead. Ever so often, he moved restlessly beneath the blanket. Elizabeth took the seat Peter had provided.

"I don't think so," she said softly, dipping a cloth into the bowl. "I think he's just too sick to pretend to be tough." She looked at Peter. "He's just being honest with you, Peter." She looked back at Neal, wringing the extra water from the cloth. "It's good we are here; no one should have to be sick alone."

She gently wiped Neal's face; his breath caught as the cloth touched his skin, and his eyes flew open. Even though the water was only lukewarm, it probably felt cold to his fevered skin. She expected a protest, but he didn't make one. After his initial look of alarm, he saw Elizabeth and relaxed. "Mmm," he mumbled, eyes closing again, "feels good. Thanks."

"At least he's sweet when he's sick," Elizabeth said with a knowing look at Peter. Peter was somewhat less than sweet when he was sick; he was downright irritable. Leave it to Neal, Peter thought, boyish charm and sweet when he was sick. The chances of getting Elizabeth to budge from her mother hen perch was growing more unlikely by the minute.

He looked at his watch: 6:50. Elizabeth freshened the cloth, and again wiped Neal's face, this time moving it to his neck. He turned his head slightly, mumbling softly. His words were mostly indistinct, but Peter picked up the consistent theme of gratitude; Neal was glad they were there.

He sighed in resignation. The truth was he was glad Elizabeth had made him come even if it meant their evening plans had changed. Neal would have never asked for it, but he needed their help. And Elizabeth had been right about something else, too; No one should have to be sick alone. He reached up and unfastened his tie.

"I think we're here for the long haul," he said, removing his jacket and throwing it across the chair. "Want me to order pizza?"

"That sounds really good," Relieved, her smile at Peter was warm. "Can they deliver?"

"I'm sure they can," he said, pulling out his phone. "It's not Basso56, but at least it's Italian."


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry, there will be four chapters. I miscalculated. Remember, I am a hurt comfort fan; my Neal is more open and my Peter a little more expressive. If you don't like that kind of stuff, don't read this. :)_

 **Chapter Three**

With a fever as high as she believed Neal was running, Elizabeth was sure a dose of Tylenol was not going to do the job on its own. It was possible to use both Tylenol and Ibuprofen at four-hour intervals to control fever, so she sent Peter downstairs to see if June had that particular pain reliever on hand. She also requested a thermometer to monitor Neal's condition. If the medication didn't get the fever under control, she informed Peter, a trip to the hospital emergency room might become necessary. Children could handle high fevers; adults could not.

Peter had been met by Janet as he reached the first floor.

"Mr. Burke," she said, "I was concerned. You said that you and the Mrs. were only stopping by, but you've been there quite awhile. Is Mr. Caffrey alright?"

"He's really sick," Peter admitted, "and he's running a high fever. My wife sent me to see if June has a thermometer and Ibuprofen."

She immediately started towards the back of the house with Peter close behind her. In the pantry off the kitchen, she produced a thermometer and the requested medication. She handed them over but didn't stop there.

"If he's running a fever, he needs to stay hydrated." She handed him a bottle of ginger ale, then a couple cans as well. "Chicken broth is good, too," She informed.

"Thank you," Peter said, positioning the items in his grasp.

"If there is anything else he needs," she said, pursing her lips firmly, "Just let me know. We are all very fond of Mr. Caffrey, you know."

"I appreciate that," Peter said. "I am rather fond of him myself."

His comment had come out without a second thought; Neal's honesty must have been contagious. He hoped whatever else he had wasn't.

She smiled at his response. "He's easy to like," she informed, "He always has a smile and a nice word for everyone, even when you know he has problems of his own."

"Problems of his own?" Peter was sure Neal Caffrey had more problems of his own than he wanted to imagine, but still, he was curious.

"We all know his _situation_ , Mr. Burke," She looked appropriately uncomfortable at his inquiry. "Even though he says he's happy to be here, it's still a prison of sorts, isn't it?" she shrugged. "It makes for a very lonely life."

Peter didn't respond to her comment, but instead simply thanked her for her help. A lonely life? Peter felt that for the most part, Neal had always had a lonely life. That was the life of a con man.

"I ordered pizza," he said as he began his trek back up the staircase. "Can you just send them up to Neal's apartment when they get here?"

"I take it you and Mrs. Burke will be spending the evening here?"

"At least until Neal's fever comes down," Peter replied, "El says if it doesn't we might need to take him in tonight to be checked out."

"I think I will give Mrs. Ellington a call," Peter could tell that Janet was both pleased and relieved. "She will rest better tonight knowing that you are here. We both will."

Peter returned to Neal's apartment with his acquisitions in hand. He found Elizabeth had vacated her place beside Neal and was in the kitchen digging through his refrigerator. She looked up as Peter entered.

"Apparently Neal only drinks wine and water."

Peter stepped to the table to unload his haul, handing her the ginger ale Janet had provided. "Ginger ale, thermometer, ibuprofen, and chicken broth," He added. He glanced towards the other room. "How's the patient?"

"Still coughing but the sponging seemed to relieve his discomfort some," she responded, "It'll take at least forty-five minutes for the Tylenol to have any effect on his fever. Take his temperature and I'll fix him a glass of ginger ale. He's probably dehydrated."

"No way," Peter said firmly, handing her the thermometer. "Not me. I'll fix ginger ale. You take his temperature."

"Why?" she teased, handing Peter the ginger ale. "Afraid he'll say something sweet to you again?"

"Maybe," At Peter's tone, her expression changed from teasing to questioning. "It just doesn't feel right," He confided. Neal wasn't only off his game; he was defenseless and vulnerable. It reminded him of the time he had been dosed at the Howser Clinic. That time, he had told Peter he was the only person in his life he trusted. It was a confession that had changed Peter's perception of his CI, but he never mentioned the exchange. He was sure Neal didn't remember it. "He wouldn't want me to see him like this."

"Only because he'd be afraid you'd think less of him," she said gently, squeezing his arm. "What you think of him matters, Peter, it always has; even from the beginning. You know that." She left him to return to Neal, and he went to the cabinet to retrieve a glass.

Peter did know. He had known it since he was chasing the elusive Neal Caffrey, and his prey went to great lengths not only to impress him with his antics but to forge some kind of personal relationship with him. Postcards, pizza deliveries and holiday phone calls had all been part of Neal's strange behavior. Peter hadn't understood it then but had come to realize that he was correct; Neal's life was lonely and for some reason, he had felt the need to connect with his pursuer. It had worked, too. There had been a connection; Neal was smart, and Peter liked smart, but more than that, there was something about the young man that made Peter like him in spite of his criminal activities. It was for those reasons he had accepted Neal's crazy offer to a work release with the FBI.

His desire to impress Peter hadn't abated even if the means he used to accomplish it had. He was brilliant both at digging through case files and finding leads others had missed and in the field as an undercover operative. Peter knew Neal wanted his approval, but he never called him one it. Partially because it would have been insulting and more importantly, a Neal seeking his approval was less likely to revert to his former ways.

Keeping Neal on the right side of the law was important for more than the obvious reason that he was Neal's handler; he also had come to think of him as a friend. A friend who needed guidance and a firm hand. The thing was he didn't usually admit that to himself much less to Neal. But it was as his friend, not his handler, that he was here now. Peter fixed the drink and joined Elizabeth.

"103.2," Elizabeth informed him as he approached the sofa. "That's really high, Peter." Her eyes were dark with worry.

"Let's give it it's forty-five minutes," Peter said, "if it doesn't come down we'll take him to the ER." Elizabeth nodded her agreement, and Peter moved closer to Neal. He had been rousted a bit from his stupor by Elizabeth's ministrations, and he saw Peter's approach.

"You're really here?" Neal's eyes went from Peter's face to Elizabeth's. "I thought I dreamed that."

"You didn't dream it," Peter said, leaning in and putting a hand behind Neal's back. "We're really here. Can you sit up?" The heat still radiated from Neal's body. 103.2 degrees was hot. "You need to drink a little if you can."

Neal complied with Peter's request and managed a couple of sips before turning his head away and coughing painfully; Peter held him steady until it passed, and eased him back onto the pillow. Again the eyes that met his were grateful. "Thanks, Peter," his eyes then found Elizabeth, "It's nice to have you both here like this."

Such openness was completely out of character for Neal, but his eyes were still bright and his voice edgy with fever; no wonder he didn't let anyone know when he was sick.

"You're welcome, Neal." Peter responded, "I'm just glad we're here to help."

His words were sincere; he was glad they were here. Neal probably wouldn't remember the details of the evening, but Peter hoped that somewhere in his fevered mind, he was registering the fact that Peter cared about him. Not just about him as his CI or an FBI asset, but as a person and as a friend.

"Me, too," Neal answered quietly, his eyes closing again. "I feel better with you here." Although the next words were mumbled, both Peter and Elizabeth heard them clearly. "I hate to be by myself."

For someone who prided himself on self-sufficiency, Neal's admission was telling. His words tugged at Peter's heart and, by Elizabeth's expression, had tugged at hers as well. What had she said? No one should have to be sick alone. Peter suspected that Neal had suffered alone a lot in his life.

"We're not going anywhere, Neal," Elizabeth dipped the cloth in the bowl, wrung it out and began wiping Neal's face and neck again. "Try to rest if you can." Her eyes met Peter's. "Forty minutes, Peter," she said quietly.

He took the seat across from Elizabeth as she continued to mop Neal's face with the cloth. He was glad that Elizabeth had insisted on their coming by tonight. He hadn't realized from his conversation with June how sick Neal actually was. But seeing him now, he didn't want to think of what shape he would have been in by morning. Thank goodness for Elizabeth's stubbornness.

"Thanks, El," he said after a short pause. "For making me check on him. You were right," he nodded at Neal's still form, "He couldn't have waited until tomorrow."

"I'm always right, Peter," she teased, "You could save us both a lot of troubles if you'd just accept the fact."

Forty minutes later Neal's temperature had dropped to 101.4. Still high, it was a definite move in the right direction. He had seemed to rest better, his restless movement having lessened even though he was occasionally awakened by his cough. Each time he opened his eyes, Peter raised him up, put the glass of ginger ale to his lips and urged him to drink. He had been compliant each time, and each time mumbled his thanks. At the reading on the digital thermometer, both Peter and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

The pizza had arrived a quarter of an hour earlier but with the prospect of a trip to the emergency room looming near, neither Peter nor Elizabeth had touched it. Having left the box unopened on the table, Peter and Elizabeth left their sleeping patient to grab a bite to eat. Elizabeth moved her jacket from the table, hanging it instead over the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat. Peter raided the wine rack, relieving Neal of a nice red.

"He won't mind," he said in response to Elizabeth's raised eyebrows. "He's being sweet, remember?" He uncorked the bottle, took glasses from the counter, and placed them on the table. He poured for them both, before corking the bottle and taking his seat across from Elizabeth. She opened the box and took out a piece of still warm pizza. Peter followed suit.

"Not exactly the venue I had planned," Peter admitted, holding his glass up, "But here's to spending a quiet evening with the lovely Mrs. Burke."

"Why thank you, Mr. Burke," Elizabeth replied, bringing her glass up to meet his. "There's no place I'd rather be."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Neal was surprised to wake without pounding in his head. It was the first time in so many days he had lost count. He felt more rested than he had in days, too. He had been so tired the past week that he had gotten to the office on sheer willpower. He stayed at his desk, not because he found the mortgage fraud cases at all interesting, but because he was too tired to do anything else.

Each day he came home, tried to eat something, and fell into bed. Even though he had taken more than the prescribed amount of medicine, he still was awakened several times each night with a persistent cough that left his throat sore and his chest raw. Instead of getting better, each day seemed to find him feeling worse. He had been sick before, but it had been a long time since he had been this sick for this long.

He had been suffering from intermittent chills for several days, but by Friday afternoon his head was pounding mercilessly, and he began to shiver in spite of the warmth of the office or the jacket he had kept on. Neal was glad Peter had been out of town; unlike Jones, he would have picked up immediately that something was wrong. Peter was like that; Neal could fool most people most of the time, but rarely could he fool Peter Burke. As it was, Neal had until Monday to get himself straightened out; that's when Peter would be back at the office.

When five o'clock on Friday had finally arrived, he had gone straight home and changed into his warmest sweat suit. Finding it a bit warmer in the living room, Neal had pulled the blankets from his bed, retrieved one from the closet, and piled up on the sofa. Wrapped from head to toe, he had fallen asleep quickly even without chugging a half bottle of cough medicine. Even so, he must have been pretty out of it judging from the strange dreams he had throughout the night. Images of people had floated in and out of his mind, sometimes they spoke to him and at other times they didn't. Everything had been jumbled and confused.

But now, hopefully, morning had arrived and even though his throat still hurt, and he felt a tightness in his chest that warned against a deep breath, his head felt better. Maybe the worst was over, he thought. As he debated the wisdom of moving, he heard soft snoring nearby.

Surprised, he opened his eyes. It _was_ morning; early light streamed from the window and across from him, slouched in a chair looking less than comfortable, sat Peter Burke.

His surprise gave way to alarm; _Peter was here._

Neal's heart rate increased as his mind recalled the previous night's dreams. Peter had been in many of them; close to him, his eyes kind and his voice soft, offering him something cold to drink. His hands had been gentle on his back, helping him up, or sometimes smoothing the hair from his forehead. Elizabeth had been there too, eyes full of concern, telling him that he would be okay, that he was not alone. The dreams had offered such comfort, something he hadn't felt in a long time, and since they were only dreams, he had allowed himself to accept it. It had been so pleasant, and he had been so grateful; _in his dreams._

But Peter snoring in his apartment was _not_ a dream; it was real. He searched his memory for more details. What had he said, exactly, last night? The memories that came to him did nothing to quell his alarm.

As if on cue, Peter's eyes opened and immediately found his. Neal felt his face flush in embarrassment, and he moved to get into an upright position. It was harder than he had thought it would be; movement reminded his head to pound and the room seemed suddenly off balance. Still, sitting upright was better than his former prone position.

"How you feeling?" Peter asked, grasping his hands together and stretching them outwards. If Peter noticed his alarmed state or his discomfort, he didn't acknowledge it.

"Better, I _thought_ ," Neal's attempt at humor was hampered by the hoarseness of his voice and the coughing he was unable to hold back. Mornings were always hard and fighting for breath did nothing to help restore his shaken dignity.

Peter took it in stride, and when Neal had regained his composure, nodded at a thermometer that had somehow miraculously appeared on the table. "Take your temperature," he said. At Neal's look, he smiled, "It goes in the ear. Press the button, put it in your ear, and wait for the beep."

"Really, Peter," Neal tried to protest, "I'm…."

"Please," Peter interrupted, his tone stopping Neal mid-sentence, "Don't tell me you are _fine_ ; I _know_ better. Elizabeth will be in here any minute. You can take it yourself or have her do it when she gets here."

So Elizabeth was here too. Neal sighed and picked up the thermometer. It was an awkward thing to do and having Peter staring at him didn't help. His look must have conveyed that because Peter stood up, stretched a moment, and moved towards the kitchen.

At the sound of the beep, Peter turned for the verdict. "Well?"

Neal looked at the digital reading. "100.5," he looked at Peter. "That's not bad, is it?"

"Considering we've been giving you fever medicine like clockwork every four hours, yeah, that bad." He shook his head. "Sorry, buddy, but you're heading to the Urgent Care today. Elizabeth will insist."

Before Neal could formulate an objection, the door opened and Elizabeth entered. He was pretty sure she was wearing a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt. Back to Peter, he too was in strange attire. So surprised to have discovered him in his apartment, Neal hadn't noticed it before now. Dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and untucked, his pants were a step up from his usual Brooks Brother's suit. He had been dressed up for something.

Medicine every four hours?

"How long have you been here?" Neal finally choked out, looking from Peter to Elizabeth.

"All night," Elizabeth replied, sending him a smile before giving her husband a quick kiss. "Janet fixed up a guest room, and Peter and I took turns keeping an eye on you." She ignored Neal's stricken look. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"100.5," Peter supplied before Neal could answer. Elizabeth's smile faded and was replaced with a look of worry. That expression seemed reminiscent of Neal's dreams, which he had come to realize weren't dreams at all.

"I was afraid of that," she said. "Neal, you've got to see a doctor. Whatever you have, you've had it long enough, and a persistent fever is not a good sign."

The fact that he was too tired to argue told Neal she was right; he had been sick for two weeks and it had only gotten worse. He rested his head against the sofa. _They had been there all night_. "Okay," he said, "You win. I'll go."

"Good," she said, "Peter will take you." She looked at her husband. "Let's get home, let you change and let Neal get ready, and then you come pick him up. I'll fix something for him to eat and be here when you guys get back."

"Elizabeth," Neal began, the thoughts of more time with the Burkes nearly causing a panic, "You don't have to come back over. I'll be fine. I'll probably just sleep the rest of the day. I'm really tired." It was true; he was entirely too tired to have just woken up.

"Not until you eat something," she spoke firmly but her eyes were kind, "I'll fix something good, I promise. Then you can sleep." She directed her attention to Peter. "I'll get my stuff together and meet you downstairs."

She left, and Peter began gathering up some assorted clothing. A tie. A jacket. Neal had been correct; he had been dressed for something special. He imagined that Elizabeth had been as well. "When did you get here?"

"Oh," Peter answered, "about six thirty or so. June called," he explained, "She was worried about you and asked that we come by and check on you."

He said it like it was no big deal, but they had _come by_ to check on him. Come by on their way _somewhere else_. Somewhere that required formal wear. Even though his thinking had been muddled, Neal could add two and two. Out of town all week, Peter had planned a special evening with Elizabeth and instead, had ended up spending it with him. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You didn't have to stay with me."

His tone betrayed his distress and Peter turned to look at him. "Your fever was really high, Neal, we were afraid to leave you by yourself." Peter was being uncharacteristically nice, especially considering that he had slept in a chair. Peter was normally cranky when he didn't sleep well.

He had been that way last night, too. _Uncharacteristically nice_ ; that's why Neal had been so convinced he had been dreaming. Peter didn't coddle and comfort; he hit you on the back and told you to Cowboy Up.

Flashes of memories came back to him; had he really told the Burkes he didn't like to be _alone_? He winced; guilty _and_ humiliated.

"You know, Peter," he began, "anything I said last night…."

"Don't worry, Neal," Peter said, "You didn't confess to any crimes or say anything incriminating." His sarcastic tone automatically made Neal feel better; that was the Peter Burke he was used to.

"Since I _have_ no crimes to confess to," he tried to muster a smile, "I wasn't really worried about that. It's just," he paused, "I don't really remember much so if I was acting weird or said something, you know, _out of character_ , I'd rather you just forget it, okay?'

Peter's expression told Neal that he knew exactly what _somethings_ he was referring to. Neal felt his face grow hot and it wasn't from the fever.

"I think we were both a little _out of character_ last night," Peter confessed, meeting Neal's eyes. "So we'll both just forget it. You good with that?"

"More than good," Relieved, Neal realized that Peter was equally uncomfortable with his own behavior the night before. Both had acted out of character and both wanted the other to forget the slip. As if they could, Neal thought. Peter never forgot anything and he didn't want to forget the kindness Peter had shown him. But they both could _pretend to forget_ and that would work well enough.

With a nod at Neal's response, Peter moved towards the door. "I got to get going or Elizabeth will be up after me," Peter said, "Be back in a couple hours, okay?"

"I'll be ready," Neal answered. He paused only a moment before continuing, "I'm sorry about last night," he said, "I know you guys had dinner plans."

"We had a great dinner," Peter replied, motioning to a box on the table. "We ordered pizza," he opened the door, "Oh, and we stole a bottle of your wine, too."


End file.
